The Words I Would Say
by Amithedragontrainer
Summary: What would I tell the boy-shunning, dragon-killing, anger-channeling teenage Viking girl I was six years ago? Where could I even start?


What would I have told myself six years ago?

It's almost funny to remember myself at that age. I braided my hair so tightly that it quivered with my heartbeat. I screamed, I practiced, I fought, I practiced more. At night I lay on my pallet staring at the ceiling late into the night. For hours, I didn't sleep. I was trying to condition myself for a warrior's life of bad food, abundant fighting, and little rest. If I dwelled on any dreams, it was for a brief second and consisted of, "When I become a shield maiden."

I worked tirelessly. I didn't laugh. Smiling didn't happen often. I wanted to save my village. I waited for my opportunity in the dragon killing academy. I watched every fighter, every muscle, every swing, every technique. I wanted to feel the village's sweat on my brow and their blood on my back and their thoughts in my head. I wanted to slump onto a bench after a hard night and nod at my brothers and sisters. I wanted to be with them - one hundred men and women strong.

I hung rodent skulls on my belt and shoulders. I had to kill the rodents myself since the cat was squashed by a Gronkle's rear. My brow developed lines of concentration before I started the journey to womanhood. I was angry at every death and every shame the dragons brought upon us.

I also knew what I was. I was a strong, fair-haired girl. My family was ranked below almost none. My mother proudly told me I would bear many rugged, fair-haired children. When I was seven, I was trying to pilfer at least a small knife from a cook in the hall. A warm, colossal hand dropped onto my shoulders and pulled me away from a blade glistening in the belt of a busy baker.

I firmed my chin and let my eyes travel the seemingly infinite distance to the face of my chief. His mouth twitched into a fleeting gaze of approval, before he slipped me a knife and walked away. I listened to his footsteps thundering as my fingers curled around the knife. Later at dinner, I heard him pass by my parents.

"Fine, strong daughter, that Astrid."

My parents swelled with pride, and I knew then who I would become. A chief's wife.

Over the years, I appraised Hiccup from afar. I considered our children, but not in the way other girls did. I would marry him for duty. I would marry him so any strength passed on from his line would merge with mine, to form strong children to lead Berk. I thought of my wedding the way I faced Stoick that day - chin hard, eyes harder, will hardest. Marriage would bring no joy to me. Perhaps the intercourse would be the only enjoyable part of the union, I used to think, unless Hiccup managed to butcher that too. In the end, I would be the real chief. He was too dim and independent to think of others and for others. I spent years teaching him to submit to me.

_Polish my axe, Hiccup._

_Y-yes, Astrid!_

_Hiccup, hurry up._

_Right-t away, Astrid!_

_You idiot, you've done it again!_

_Sorry, Astrid!_

I had at first resented my beauty for the teasing the others gave me as a child. With Hiccup, I discovered beauty is the most fascinating poison. Beauty is the most stealthy weapon, and I learned to use it well.

Today, if I found my past self pacing around in the woods, splitting trees with my axe, I might laugh. I was no idiot as a younger girl, but I lacked any emotion beside anger. I resent every callous look, brutal criticizm, and rock-solid punch I delivered to Hiccup. I wasted too much time trying to be perfect.

The laundry today takes forever. It's in a woven basket, cradled firmly in my arms. Six years ago, I would have wasted no time with this chore. Now I am shamelessly wasting time watching a black figure fly low above the village, watching for any threats and keeping us safe. The sunlight blinds my eyes.

It's almost like Hiccup and I have switched roles. He thinks tirelessly of the village and every living thing in it and around it. His father is hoping for a more traditional chief, but we all know Hiccup will be better. He's concentrated and careful, constantly thinking and planning and scheming and building. The little braid poking out beneath his shaggy mane is my work. When his hands are busy, it's how I tug him away from the job. Hiccup has a one-track mind. When he's on a task, there is nothing else. I was like that. But I know nobody ever tugged my braid and me away from my work. I know nobody grinned teasingly at me. I know my eyes never cleared and glowed with happiness at that one special offender. In that respect, Hiccup is all himself.

The wedding is almost a joke for me now. I tease him about the night, just to see his cheeks flush with anticipation and embarrasment before he sputters out a lightning-quick retort. It still amuses me that he never thought he'd have a chance with me, that our marriage was never in the future. He hates people being smarter than him, so when I roll my eyes at his amazement, he bristles and swells like a kicked mother hen.

I have friends now, not brothers and sisters. Ruffnut and I snort at the boys' antics. Snotlout and I fight like fellow warriors, his eyes finally cleared of any romance and instead filled with respect. Tuffnut yanks me into a prank every now and then. Fishlegs babbles on about Nadders to me, knowing I always listen.

Stormfly and I share a resolve and almost everything else. Some nights I spread out on her bed so we can gaze at the stars together. A leg of chicken off my plate goes unnoticed when she steals it. I tell her everything, and she shares new rodent's skulls with me.

Hiccup, I know, was the change. He makes us all better, though I try to avoid puffing his ego more than I have to. I'd still be an angry, bitter woman if he hadn't used my fury and envy at his success to change me. Hiccup taught me to understand. He taught me to stop and enjoy the lights of Asgard in the skies.

If I met the girl I was six years ago, I wouldn't say anything. There's nothing I could do. She - I - was too stubborn.

Scratch that. I'd tell her something. I remember Hiccup's shoulders sagging under my words.

"Cut him some slack. He's going to do big things," I'd say.

And maybe, "For Thor's sake, always make sure he hooks himself to his saddle. It'll cost him one day!"


End file.
